The Fallen Seraph
by M. A. Yacone
Summary: When a Chosen Champion of Tzeentch meets a worthy opponent during the siege of an Empire town, he is given a choice that could forever change his once single-minded existence. Rated for blood and gore. Please R&R. Chapter 2 now up!
1. Chapter 1

**The Fallen Seraph**

**Chapter 1  
**

I am what I am. Nothing more, nothing less. You say I am a monster, yet my allies say I am a hero. You call me a heretic, yet my brethren call me a prophet. You claim me to be the end, yet my master claims me to be only the beginning. Although I find myself unaware at times of what my master wishes of me, I find comfort in knowing that in his grand design I am more than just a pawn. I can feel his Dark Gifts pulsing through me, as if he wishes to remake me with each enemy I slaughter. As their blood coats my armor and wets my blade, my mind slowly changes to that which most would not understand. I know my soul is changing, for it is my master's will that all things change. His ruinous powers course through my veins, empowering my body and mind to unleash destruction and death upon my enemies with strength and cunning. Never have I met an opponent worthy of my power. It is pathetic how those fools of the Empire think themselves as righteous, for they know not the truth of my master's Dark Gifts. When they beg for mercy I give them nothing more than a painful death, for only cowards expect a swift end. I am a Chosen Champion of Tzeentch, and none shall bend my will from further serving the call of my Raven God!

I could hear the screams of the Hellcannons firing upon the town below. From the overlooking cliff on which my brethren of the Raven Host perched, I bore witness to the panic of the town's denizens and the terror in the soldiers' eyes. As our marauders hailed from our camp and poured into their streets, I could not help but join in the fray. My claymore thirsted for the first kill of the morn, as was its habit. I charged on the front lines alongside my brothers, thinking little of what sort of end they would meet should they find themselves on the receiving end of an opposing blade. As I dove into the conflict, I used the energies of the warp to sunder a large collection of my enemies with one swing, tearing apart their defensive front with ease. My blackened heart took some personal pleasure from plunging my claymore, Uriel, through the back of an Empire soldier who attempted to escape by crawling away. As a particularly courageous soldier charged at me with his halberd ready to swing, I merely channeled my Dark Gifts into Uriel before repelling the fool through a window of the nearest second-story building. I could hear his bones crush under the pressure of my swing, and that too brought me delight.

Unfortunately, the battle was drawing to a close as the last pockets of resistance fled southward. Perhaps they sought some shred of hope in Nordland, south of Norsca where our siege began. It matters not, for they only prolong the inevitable. We pursued the cowards, although I sought to flay their flesh more than any of my brothers. As we approached the southern outskirts of the town, I could hear the screams of dying men. But I soon found out the cries of agony were not those of our foes, but of those marauders who ensued the chase ahead of me. Looking further down the road I could see only one woman, adorned in breast plate armor worn over a long robe. She carried a large warhammer in both hands, and with some power of blinding light she simultaneously pulverized my allies. I took a moment to take in the joy of cowing a possibly worthy foe, knowing full well she would eventually succumb to my ruinous might. After reveling in the thought of her death, I made haste in engaging her in combat.

She parried my overhead strike with her warhammer, our weapons locked together in a standstill. I laughed at her in mockery, but I soon saw the error of the decision in holding my position. Her warhammer radiated a brilliant golden light and with the power she channeled I was repelled backwards. I used every ounce of strength in me to resist, but I was forced about ten feet back with little chance to counter. She in turn charged me with all her might. Her will was strong, possibly rivaling that of my own, and I was left vulnerable from her last attack. Before I could even lift Uriel to parry she assailed me with a series of crushing blows. Although I did not fall, I could feel my body grow weaker with each passing swing. If I did not act soon, this warrior priest would surely have me slain. Before the final blow was struck, I held Uriel and plunged it into the ground, and with my Dark Gifts I surrounded myself with a blast wave of pure, chaotic force. Although she was knocked off her feet she rose swiftly from where she fell. Clearly, she was not ready to be defeated so easily.

"Why would you defy your inevitable end with such fervor?" I questioned.

"There is no end that I defy!" she exclaimed. "When my days are at their end, I know Sigmar will welcome me with open arms... Until then, I will fight heretics like you who seek to destroy the very things I have sworn to protect!"

"I am curious, Sigmarite... What is it that you protect?"

"Such curiosity is not becoming of your kind, Norseman. It is not even natural for you to ponder anything other than how to slaughter innocents and destroy lives! Why are you, one who knows not of family or friends, so interested in my faith?"

"I suppose it is my lacking of companionship that drives me to ask such questions... Of course, it is not like myself to ponder of such trivialities. Affection only hinders the mind, and as a Chosen Champion of the Changer of Ways it would only prove to keep me from furthering his grand design..."

The Sigmarite laughed, of which struck me as unusual. Never before have I seen an enemy, possibly facing their doom, laughing at my words. Then again never before have I held a conversation with an adversary long enough for them to show any emotion other than fear. Her laughter only served to anger me.

"Cease your laughter, Sigmarite!" I shouted. "I am to slay you where you stand, yet you mock me? Answer me as to why you do so, lest I bring upon you a painful end!"

"It is simple," she said as she regained her composure. "You speak of affection and love as a form of weakness, when in truth they are what allow me to stand in defiance against you!"

Something inside my cold, black soul seemed to twist and churn, as if some form of revelation appeared before me. Could it be that this is what these fools of the Empire fight for? Nothing of what she said made any sense in my mind, but then why does my heart feel some truth behind it? This new emotion angered me, yet I felt no wrath toward the Sigmarite. It was as if I was enraged at myself, which I still did not understand. I also felt a strange pulsing in my chest, as if I had done some great wrong. Could this be what it feels to have remorse, to have a conscience? I had never felt such a oddity in my entire existence, so why do I know of it now? There was something about this young woman that made my insides cry out in agony, but it was almost enjoyable. Her aura was nothing like my own, filled with hope and affection while I held only despair and hate for those who I called my prey. She smiled at me, and it was that beautiful smile that truly set her apart from others who I would call a fool. What was worse is that I hesitated in ensuing the fight. It was as if I did not wish to strike her, my thoughts now clouded with questions that I could not answer.

"I see a great revelation has shown itself before you, Norseman," she said with that same smile. "I see a light in you that you yourself thought to be extinguished. Although you may not realize it yet, you may very well be touched by the light of Sigmar, despite how much your dark god has changed you. It is because of this that I give you two choices; return to the life you know, one of meaningless slaughter and evil, or follow me to a new world that could very well change you in ways your dark god could not..."

With that said she simply turned her back to me and began to walk away. Looking around I could see the corpses of my brothers. Looking back I could see the ruins of the town, its structures engulfed in flame and ruin. My mind told me to return to the camp with my tale of how I allowed a lone warrior priest to get the better of me, but surely I would lose favor with not only my brethren, but also of Tzeentch. For my whole existence I thought of what I knew to be the truth. Now that I have been burdened with this curse of remorse and with her last words still resonating in my head, I could never return to the life I once called my own. Perhaps it was never my own, and I was just another pawn that the Changer of Ways sought to remake and eventually discard when my time had come. It would be a nice change, I thought, to have someone to care for me without the intention of using me as an instrument of pure destruction. After my moment for thoughts had come to an end, I followed the Sigmarite close behind, not yet knowing of what fate, or this so-called Sigmar, had in store for my future...


	2. Chapter 2

**The Fallen Seraph**

**Chapter 2  
**

I thought I was a hero. I claimed myself to be a prophet, favored by a god who never cared for me. Only my bloodstained blade mattered in his grand design. In the end, slaughter and bloodshed only serves the purpose of mindless destruction. Countless innocents, both civilian and soldier alike, have fallen to my sword. Innocents that were, at some point in time, some mother's child. The heartless beast that I had become had no future, just as I had ended the future of many lives who did not deserve death. Perhaps this Sigmarite will somehow show me a path that I had previously never seen before, a way that knows no despair or regret. If what this young woman says holds truth, then this aching heart of mine will finally know rest. But what if this choice is folly? Could it be that I was best off continuing the fight between us, to kill her or be killed myself? I suppose it is only a matter of time before my brothers wonder of my whereabouts and soon learn the truth of my betrayal. It matters not to me now, at least for the moment...

"Where exactly do you take me, Sigmarite?" I questioned.

"I feel you are not yet ready to join in the glory of fighting alongside my brothers and sisters in faith," she answered, having lead me off the main road and into the wilderness. "Until you have proven you can fight against those you once called your fellow Norsemen, I will teach you of the divine light of Sigmar where I first learned of its great promise..."

Looking just up ahead, no more than a mile off the main road, I could see a small clearing. At its center there stood a large stone statue, that of a god-like man with a mighty warhammer and armor adorned in markings of flame.

"Is this a shrine built in honor of your god?" I asked.

"You are just full of questions today," she responded. "Yes, this is a monument to Sigmar, the great hero of the Empire. To follow in his example is to tread the path of a saint. But before I teach you how to wield the faith as your ultimate weapon against those who would destroy it, you must first discard everything you once were. All the blood you spilled in the name of your dark god must be repented for. It will not be a painless endeavor, for it will purge you of your sins both physically and spiritually. Are you sure you wish to go on with this?"

"For many years I have fought to become something that I now see as wrong. My whole life has been nothing but a squandering, killing and pillaging for the sake of a god who never gave me what you have... I want to know what it feels to care for someone other than myself. So if a purging is required of me, then so be it!"

"Very well..." she said as she stood before me. "Your will is strong, but if it is not enough, this will kill you..."

She placed her hands on my chestplate, whispering words that sounded like a prayer with her eyes closed.

"Great champion of the light, most holy Sigmar, show this child of the dark the truth of his transgressions... Allow his body and soul cleansed, that his sins may be atoned and his life an example of your righteousness..."

Suddenly my entire body, every fabric of my being, was wracked in such agony that I could not help but to scream out. I fell to my knees, clutching the hem of the Sigmarite's robe, for I wished so desperately for it to end. My sight was blinded from my surroundings. I could only see the faces of those I had murdered, the very souls I had claimed in the name of Tzeentch. I could see and feel their pain, their horrified expressions each engraved in my mind. They clawed at my thoughts with their wailing, and for the first time I knew true misery. I could not bear their torment, for it had also become my own. I begged for the Sigmarite to spare me the torture, but I did not know whether she could hear me. Their cries grew louder and louder until I thought my head would burst open. For what seemed like an eternity I was on my knees, screaming in an agony that never seemed to ease. But just when I thought I would die of this suffering I could hear the Sigmarite's voice, her words much louder than the others that continued to beat at my mind.

"May great Sigmar release this child of the dark from his pain, for he is wicked no more!"

Suddenly I could see a light before me, swiftly approaching me with its blinding aura. The horrid faces of the slain vanished from my sight as I was bathed in its divine radiance, and for the first time in my entire existence I finally understood the true meaning of rapture. It was not long after the light had completely engulfed me that my vision was restored and I was aware of my surroundings once again. The young woman stood before me, a warm smile on her face. I looked at my gauntlets, noticing a change in its color. I made haste to the nearest stream, looking at my reflection in its waters. My armor had changed. That which was once a dark azure was now pure white. The symbols of Tzeentch that I had adorned my armor with began to shatter into dust and disappear in the wind. I looked back at where I had dropped Uriel upon my purging, noticing that it too faded away into dust. In its place I saw a warhammer, glowing in the same pure light that I had saved me from the torment I felt before. I walked to it, taking it in my right hand and holding it up to the sun. Its radiance matched that of the sun itself, although I was not blinded by it.

"A weapon of such power deserves a name, does it not?" said the Sigmarite.

I looked to her warm smile and then gazed upon my warhammer, and at that instant I knew what its name would be.

"I shall call you Maev'Solis, the Night-Cleaver!" I exclaimed.

"Well met, Norseman," said the Sigmarite as she applauded. "In case you were curious, my name is Sarah Hunter. Now what would be your name? It is only proper that I address a fellow follower of the faith with a name."

The thought had never occurred to me. I had a name once, but it has long since faded from memory. Only the glory of bloodshed and killing those I once called fools mattered. I did not know what to tell her. No one cared of me enough to call me by name, let alone ask for it.

"I see..." she said with pity in her green eyes. "They never saw you as anything more than fodder, did they? The truth that you remember nothing of your name is a sorrowful truth indeed..."

"If it is not too much trouble... Would you be kind enough as to give me a name?"

Sarah's look of pity for me turned to one of joy. Her smile returned and she began to ponder. After a moment of silence, she answered my question with a wondrous answer.

"By the power granted unto me by the Church of Sigmar, I proclaim you cleansed! From this day forth, you shall be called Raphael!"

The power of my new name gave me a strength I never felt before. It was as if my whole existence, my past life of destruction and massacre, was nothing to me anymore. Whatever my birth name once was, it mattered not. There was a new hope in my world. Once foreseen as overflowing with bloodshed and death, I knew my future would bear the fruits of a new life that only the living Sigmar could give me. At last, I knew of true change.

But as I reveled in the thoughts of a better tomorrow, an all too familiar shadow crept into my mind. It was as if I sensed a darkness that was similar to what I once had, only more powerful and menacing. Whatever it was, I could feel it drawing closer to where Sarah and I stood. Its wicked aura filled the air around us with the stench of blood and, oddly enough, a strong perfume. Both aspects were not of Tzeentch, the god I once revered. The presence of a mighty servant to the Chaos Gods Slaanesh and Khorne seemed to be approaching from all sides, but that could not be for the two gods have held an unrivalled hate for each other for many millennia. Looking around, unsure of where the unholy presence originated, I noticed two other aspects that implied the works of the other Chaos Gods, Nurgle and Tzeentch. The trees that surrounded the clearing began to warp into gross mockeries of their former selves, an obvious expression of Tzeentch's will. But soon after their metamorphosis they quickly withered and died, as if struck by a hastened plague. These were the works of Nurgle, which only served to confuse me further. It was not long, however, before my eyes witnessed what terrible entity could harness the full power of the four Chaos Gods. And when he appeared, I could not believe my stupidity for not realizing it sooner.

As he stepped from the underbrush, I could hear the ancient taint of his aura whispering of terrible, blasphemous horrors. His armor was as black as a starless night, of which I knew to be the infamous Armor of Morkar, the first of the Everchosen. What I recognized as the legendary Crown of Domination was fitted upon his head, of which was shrouded by a helmet that bore a pair of daemonic horns. He rode upon the Daemon Steed, Dorghar, stomping its hooves with such force that the ground beneath it trembled. In his right hand he wielded the Slayer of Kings, a sword so twisted and powerful that any normal man would be sundered in two under its blade.

In his wake there appeared four horsemen, each a Chosen Champion of a different Chaos God. The first to appear was, without a doubt, a soldier of Tzeentch, for his azure armor and constantly changing aura was similar to my own when I served the Lord of Change. The second to arrive on the scene was a warrior of Khorne, his crimson armor meshing well with the blood that stained it. Then there came a worshipper of Slaanesh, with a violet tone to his armor, of which smelled of seductive aromas. The last was a malefactor of Nurgle, the smell of rotting carrion filling the air from his rusted and fungus-ridden armor. They each stood at the being's side atop their own steeds, all looking down upon Sarah and me. She looked to the five creatures and then looked to me with a grimace.

"Raphael, who or what are these creatures of the warp?"

"They are the Four Horsemen of Chaos..." I responded with a sense of fear as my heart sank. "The fifth of the riders is none other than Archaon the Everchosen... The Lord of End Times..."

"Who are you who knows of what we are?" questioned the Chosen Horseman of Khorne.

"Is it not obvious, Brother Blood?" answered the Chosen Horseman of Tzeentch. "His armor is a pure white yet it resembles the finest work of a smith of Chaos. Without a doubt he is a traitor to our kind!"

"Surely he must be a traitor to your Lord of Change, Brother Warp, for the followers of Slaanesh never stray from the ways of their believes!" exclaimed the Chosen Horseman of Slaanesh.

"Of course you think so highly of your faith, Brother Glutton!" barked Brother Blood. "Of course such delusions are well misplaced!"

"We need not quarrel amongst ourselves when we have enemies before us," said the Chosen Horseman of Nurgle. "We all know that Grandfather Nurgle holds the highest respect among all our gods!"

"Put a rat in it, Brother Bile!" shouted Brother Warp. "Our master is about to speak and you lot continue to squander words against one another!"

Just as soon as they ceased their arguing, Archaon approached Sarah and I atop his daemonic steed. His eyes were engulfed in such evil and malice that it almost penetrated my soul, but it was too pure for him to touch. He looked to Sarah and I with such intensity and Sarah shook in fear of his power.

"You are a traitor to the Raven God, if I am not mistaken..." said Archaon in such a deep, booming voice that my armor began to quake. "But you were a mighty Chosen Champion to Tzeentch, well revered among the ranks of Tchar'Zanek. Yet I have somehow misplaced your name. What would they call you before your unfortunate conversion, Sigmarite?"

"My name is Raphael!" I yelled with every ounce of courage in my being. "I am now a child of Sigmar, and I will fight to the death any who would destroy what I have sworn to protect!"

"You have sworn to protect this young woman, have you not?" he laughed in a heavy bellow. "If she holds such a place in your once black heart, then perhaps she must die to return you to us!"

With such god-like speed that it was impossible to see, Archaon plunged the Slayer of Kings right through Sarah's chest, striking her heart and killing her instantly as ruinous energy pulsed through her body. The shock I felt in my heart and mind was too much to bear, for it was at that moment that I realized that I loved her for what she did for me. Following the surprise came an ire that was greater than any anger I have ever felt. As if in a raged frenzy I attempted to smite the Lord of End Times with Maev'Solis, but he easily parried it with a swift twist of his legendary sword.

"Yes... That is it!" exclaimed the Everchosen. "Let the anger flow through your entire being! Allow it to make you strong, to make your heart more black and merciless than it once was!"

"Never!" I shouted back. "I will never bow to the likes of you again! To the death I will protect! To the death I will fight!"

"If it is death you wish, then it is death that shall be granted to you..."

With a wave of his open left hand I was pushed into a nearby tree by some chaotic force he controlled. I could feel its energies ripping my body apart, tearing it limb from limb. As my mortal form was destroyed and my sight quickly fading to black, I could only think of how I failed my beloved Sarah, of how I was felled so early in my life with Sigmar. I could only hope, I thought, that the most holy, living god would forgive me for my failures...


End file.
